Heal
by sweet-surrender5
Summary: I'm back...
1. Chapter 1

a/n: Comes out of hiding Remember me? ...the writer's block fairy nearly killed me. I pulled a Sara.

Warning: Spoilers for **_For Gedda _**(which I have not yet seen, but know about...) I will likely be adding chapters after this if it goes well. Please comment! good to be back, although under stuch gruesome circumstances.

* * *

He opened the door

He opened the door.

She stared blankly at him.

Seven months.

Seven months, sixteen days, and 9 hours, he corrected.

He was fairly sure that if neither of them moved soon, rigor would begin to set. He tried to open his mouth, move his hand, step back, blink, _something, _but those seven months, sixteen days, and 9 hours were sitting right on top of them like the weight of the Bellagio. And adding to that, the most recent 31 felt like another couple of hefty slabs of concrete.

She crooked her head to the side. Her hair was longer. Her skin less pale. He imagined that she had looked less broken…until he'd called her. She'd been healing while she was gone. But the stitches she'd made had been ripped open. He wondered how well they would hold.

A tear slipped out of the inner corner of a cavernous brown eye.

Then, the Bellagio and fell to the ground in hundreds of pieces of emotional rubble.

She fell into his chest, pressing her face against his collar. Her thin arms wrapped around his midsection. He was still just standing there, looking down at her leaving wet spots on his shirt. Then, finally, his nervous system kicked back into gear. His arms moved around her shoulders, and his head leaned against hers. They fit perfectly back into the long-ago familiar embrace.

It was then, and only then, that Grissom's heart broke.

Suddenly, there was a cataclysmic fury of every dark emotion ripping between them both. He choked out her name and he felt her fists ball up, his shirt tangled in her hands. The hotness of her tears on his shoulder burned like acid but he would not pull away. Anyway, he didn't mind the pain. At least he was feeling something.

When she had left, he had been numb. All his life, he'd been on mental morphine. His mind anaesthetized to any sort of pain or sadness that the world could have hit him with. But now…he definitely had nothing to numb the raw and jagged emotions scraping at his heart.

He kicked shut the door.

He felt the initial anger and tension leaving her body as her heaving chest slowed. She slowly – reluctantly, even – pulled her face away from his body.

Sara's eyes were red around the outside and her forehead creased with the sadness they both felt. But she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Damaged, yes. But fantastically breath-taking.

He was shattered. Her chocolate eyes were almost black.

"Sara…" he started quietly. He felt her sway ever so slightly at the sound of his voice. "I…I can't…where to start…"

He didn't recognize his own voice. It was all so strange to him.

Then, she did something even more strange.

She kissed him.

It took a split second before he realized her lips were pressed against his. Then, he responded. It was deep and passionate. Mouths pressing hard against each other, telling volumes of feelings and secrets and needs. It built up, the pressure and the weight of vast emotion, until Grissom felt a groan explode from his chest. She pulled away at the sound. She had never seen that look upon his face.

"Sara, why?" he asked.

The spoke for the first time. "Why what?"

"Everything! Why did you almost die? Why did you really leave? Why didn't I fire him? Why did is he gone? And why is everything falling apart? For fuck's sake, why?!"

He didn't not realize he had raised his voice until he stopped speaking. The silence, though, that followed immediately after was much louder than he could have ever yelled. Sara did not speak for a long time, but stared out the window of their apartment.

Grissom, still trying to decipher this bizarre outburst, angrily ran his hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry," he offered, "I just--"

"Don't." She interrupted softly , "Don't. Just…shhh."

She put a finger to his lips and grabbed his arm with her other hand. Silently, she led him to their bedroom. She hadn't been in it for over half a year, yet she noticed her bookmark was still in the same spot on her beside table. Grissom felt her gently push him towards the bed. He sat. He watched her close the blinds, kick off her shoes, and lay down on the bed. She moved with the forced grace of a princess in exile.

"Lay with me," she said. He let her words settle on him for a few moments before he followed her commands. The pain bit into his insides like thousands of little hooks.

He lay beside his fiancée, stiff and uncomfortable. Her hand gently stroked his arm as he stared at the ceiling. She rolled onto her side and put her hand over his heart. His instinctively went to cover hers.

"Let go." She said. Her voice was softer than cashmere. He looked at her confusedly.

"Just…let it out."

He felt something roiling deep within him. Somewhere in that bottomless pit inside him, something was ready to snap, coiled and pulsing.

"Please?"

Then, all of a sudden, it hurtled out of him. Grissom had somehow rolled onto his side and pulled her against him, spooning her tightly. Hot, angry tears pressed against Sara's neck as sobs wracked his chest.

He had not cried in 43 years.

And it hurt bad.

She let him hold her until he had nothing left in him. She was broken in his arms, but she felt held together even as he lost all vestiges of control.

When the last shuddering sigh passed though him, he kissed her shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispered. She didn't reply. It was then, he realized, that she was asleep.

It took him a while before he spoke again, just lying there and holding her, and for once, truly _feeling. _And when he did speak, he said something he'd never said before.

"I love you."


	2. Chapter 2

Sara awoke, feeling warm but still exhausted. The familiar feel of silky sheets greeted her skin. Mumbling quietly to herself, she rolled over to the other side of the bed. She had gotten used to sleeping alone, but the feel of those sheets made her automatically reach for the warm body that she would find there.

But it wasn't.

She opened her groggy eyes. Grissom sat in the leather chair beside the bed. He was sunk low in the seat, his legs far apart and his hands on the rests. He just sat there, in the dark, still dressed in the wrinkled clothes he'd been in the day before.

"Griss?" she said quietly.

She saw him move in the darkness, the glow from the streetlights outside barely illuminating him. He rubbed his beard with one hand. She could hear it scratching against his skin.

"Are you ok?"

His hand dropped to his knee.

"Why didn't I stop him, Sara?"

His voice was dangerously quiet. She could feel the weight in his words.

"Why didn't I put more restrictions on him? I should have kept a closer eye on him. I _know _what he's like…"

"This isn't your fault."

"Like hell it is. I could have stopped the whole thing. I could have saved him."

Sara propped herself up on her elbow.

"Gil." Her voice was stern and had a harsh finality to it. "This isn't your fault."

"You weren't here! You weren't here for any of it! How would you know?" Grissom raised his voice slightly. She stared at him. She knew he was hurting. She knew he wasn't meaning what he was saying. God knows she'd seen enough of this in the interrogation room over the years. Self-guilt. Anger. Pain.

Hell, when her dad died it had been her. When the Shelton case had come about. It had been her. After Nick had been kidnapped. It had been her.

She sat up and swung her legs so she was facing him. He had his head in one hand, not looking at her. Something in him had snapped, and he was trying desperately hard to hold on to two ends at once, ripping him apart in the middle.

"Hey," she said softly. She could still feel his soft sobs against her neck although it had been hours ago. She reached out, he pale arm barely visible in the dim light. She slid her hand into his, squeezing tightly. It was something reminiscent of the time Grissom had sat with her in her apartment, while she told him macabre tales of her childhood.

He understood immediately.

Slowly, he brought his gaze up to her. She could see the dark purple rings beneath his eyes, the way his wrinkles stood out more in the darkness. He looked ill. She remembered looking that way. Back before she's left Vegas.

"You know I know what you're feeling," she said, "and I know you never thought you'd understand how I felt before I left…and I'm sorry I had to go. But we both know this isn't all about me, Gil."

"I'm sorry. I should never have said that. It's just…I don't know what to do. I just feel so…useless!" He sighed exasperatedly. Warrick's case had been taken over by Ecklie and his dayshift team. Ecklie had given the team a week off for grievance…more like he'd set cops outside the lab to stop them from going in.

Grissom had tried.

He was sure they all had tried.

He remembered sitting helpless at home. He remembered feeling empty and numb and confused. He felt alone. And the worst part of it all was that he knew he had to tell Sara.

Grissom paced.

Hank watched as worriedly as a dog could from his seat on the couch.

"I have to call her," Grissom said over the sound of 'Flower Duet' blasting from his stereo system. He used to fear that his neighbours would be annoyed, having to listen to opera at all hours of the day. Right now he couldn't care less.

He had a headache. His back hurt. He had only gotten six combined hours of sleep in the past two days.

Warrick was dead.

And he had to tell Sara.

He dialled, although he really didn't want to. As the dialling tone rang in his ear, he continued to pace, contemplating what to say.

Their conversations were…interesting. They were awkward at first, few and far in between. But, as time progressed, they'd talk more and more on the phone, until sometimes one would fall asleep and the other would just sit and listen. He'd counted down the days since she'd left.

He'd never been more in love with anything in his life.

More than Trigger, more than his pet tarantula, more than books, teaching, university, his mother…and even more than science.

Yes, he loved her more than science.

Only because, though, he felt that his relationship with Sara _was _science. Everything about it. Pure, unpredictable biochemistry.

"…Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?"

A small voice was speaking in his ear.

"Sara!" He said, hoping she wouldn't hang up.

"Oh. Hi. I didn't know it was you," she said quietly. She sounded groggy. Grissom looked at the clock. 5am.

"Oh, honey…Sorry, I didn't realize it was this early…" He said distractedly.

He knew she could hear the unease in the tone of his voice. She always could.

"Is everything ok?" He could hear sheets rustling on the other end as she sat up.

It took everything in him to break her heart.

"Sara…"

"Oh my god. What happened, Gil?"

"It's Warrick."

Hank whined from the couch as if he knew what his owner was talking about and whom he was talking to.

"Is he--"

"He was shot. He's dead. Pronounced at the scene."

"Oh my god…"

The silence that ensued was painful on both ends.

"Is…Is everyone ok? Do they know who? I mean, what happened?!" Sara asked frantically, no longer sounding sleepy.

"He was framed for the death of Lou Gedda and someone got back after we popped him out of jail. I don't know who…Conrad won't let us back in the lab," Gil explained quietly. He took a seat on the couch next to Hank. He scratched the boxer's ears, still feeling very alone. Hearing her shock was making it worse.

"Jeez, Griss. How could this happen so suddenly?"

"I don't know."

There was another pause.

"You have to come home, Sara."

His voice was soft and tender, the voice he often used with her in the wee hours of the morning as they went to bed.

"I guess I'll have to…for the funeral and everything. Is it going to be in Vegas?"

"Yes, but it'll be a few days before they release the body." Grissom paused as he realized that he had just referred to his friend as a 'body'. He wanted to throw up.

"Sara…please come home. Home-home. As in here…" he said quietly.

"You need to be home. With me. I…I need you."

"I'll be there in a few days," she said solemnly. She knew he'd only say those words if he truly meant them.

"Alright. Be safe. I suppose I'll have to arrange things with the family," Grissom said, regaining his composure.

"…his family are flying in?" Sara couldn't bear to say his name just yet.

"Yeah. I gotta go, Sar. I'll talk to you soon." He couldn't talk to her anymore.

"Bye," she whispered

He was about to hang up, when he felt Hank nudge his thigh. He looked down at the dog and he knew what the little guy was trying to tell him. Hank was no idiot.

"I miss you," he offered across the line.

"I miss you, too," said Sara.

As he hung up, he wondered what word he'd use for 'miss' when she arrived.

He felt her squeeze his hand again. He was jolted out of his thoughts. Sara was sitting in front of him on the bed, holding his hand. He was tired. And empty. But he felt relieved, somehow.

"There's nothing you can do for him now, Grissom. Ecklie won't let you. But you need to do something for yourself. For the team," Sara was saying. He looked into her eyes and wondered how one could be so in love yet so torn inside at the same time. It was hard to bear, he realized. He understood why she left.

"What's that?" He asked quietly.

"You need to heal," she replied.


End file.
